That’s quite a reaction from mere words on a screen. I’m curious, what was it in particular about that story that made you shiver and soaking wet?
Teaching – light by Vladislav Shereshevsky (via Dazzledent)
An anonymous reader writes:
So, I was re-reading Lupercalia over my nightly tea in bed…
Soon I was head over heels, completely immersed within the story. I pictured myself running through the streets away from the ‘wolves’, dripping from the excitement of being pursued, imagining a well-muscled, naked man panting just behind me. I ran and ran, until inevitably I was caught, pinned down like the prey I am, my clothing ripped from my body before a hard spanking, his hands wandering my body before taking me right there in the open.
I had to put my phone down at this point, my hands otherwise engaged, one was on my breast, the other between my widespread legs, my right probing and exploring my own insides while the left kneaded my tender flesh and played with my nipple. My hands were no longer my own, the left being that of the wolf, enjoying his prize, the right his hard, throbbing cock.
How I wished the others weren’t home, it was so hard to stay quiet as I lay there on my bed, completely exposed, no sheets or blankets covering my writhing body.
Had my door been unlocked anyone entering right then would have been greeted by the sight of my fingers ramming into my wetness, my back arched, my breast being tightly squeezed, my eyes closed and my mouth wide open. My gasps and heavy breaths filling the air as I struggled not to moan out my pleasure as my imaginary wolf took me hard – his throbbing penis driving hard into my gushing cunt, his testicles slapping against my sore spanked bum on every feral thrust, his arms holding me possessively as he fucks me, his mouth sucking and biting my neck as I gasp each time he re-enters my body – until we both cry out as he comes deep inside me, pumping my needy hole full of his hot seed, my cunt overflowing with our combined juices…
I wasn’t finished yet though. Naughty me. Soon, I once again found myself impaled on my own fingers as I imagined the satyr and nymph making love. My middle finger started me off just as the satyr’s had done, but by the time my fingers were entering me to the beat of imaginary drums I found myself craving a dildo of my own, wanting to feel what I could only imagine, the length and thickness my fingers couldn’t provide.
As my longing grew, so did my arousal, rolling onto my side where my fingers entered me from behind I was introduced to a whole new experience, my fingers feeling completely different from this new angle, my insides a new world and my pussy suddenly much tighter.
I found myself rolling back and forth from this new experience back to the penetration I knew so well, I found myself transferring from the mind of Claudia to that of the nymph, as the nymph I rode my fingers as if they were the satyr’s erection, as Claudia I explored the new sensations of being filled in the most intimate ways, as she came, her wetness clamping hard on the phallus within her I too pressed tight around my fingers without thought or effort, I found myself coming down from my arousal with her, my juices dripping down to my inner thigh as I lay on my side…
After a bedtime story, I always sleep so well.
Image: Venus Whipping Cupid with Roses, Giovanni Luigi Valesio
Why is Venus spanking Cupid?
Did you know that long before the modern world chose Valentine’s Day as its designated day of love, there was the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia?
Did you know that it began on the Ides (the 13th) and climaxed on the 15th of February, and consisted of purification and fertility rites that held such significance in the Roman calendar that the month of Februarius was named after them?
Although Lupercalia was a fertility rite, scholars believe its proximity to the contemporary St Valentine’s Day is purely coincidental. And that is why Venus is spanking Cupid in a 17th century woodcut. It depicts the echoes of half-remembered rituals still reverberating.
If you have someone special in your life, you are blessed. Tell them how much you love them, then show how much, by baring their bottom and spanking them pink. Or send them this post and be waiting ready for a spanking when they get home.
You’ll be reviving a tradition that goes back over 2000 years. Spanking is love. A warm bottom and a contented heart. Such is the wisdom of the ancients.
And if you need any further inspiration, lend me your imagination, and I’ll whisper you a story…
“What do you fancy doing in your next holiday?
Basking on a beach? Scuba diving? Trekking? Partying the night away?
Or how about dressing up as a schoolgirl and having your bare bottom smacked?
Susan James investigates the extraordinary new adult role play holiday that not only breaks the rules, but is sent to see the headmistress afterwards…”
Reader sinfulchurchgirl writes:
I love your story ‘Glimpse’, it’s one of my all-time favorites, for several reasons.
1. The light in late October is my very favorite. There’s a beautiful old cemetery near my home in northern New England that I like to run through that reminds me of the wood your narrator is walking through when they happen upon the woman by the fireplace. Your description of that first night is exquisite.
2. I like not knowing whether the narrator is male or female. Initially I thought the narrator was male, but since then, I think because I’m a woman, I have begun to see the narrator as female. I’ve never been comfortable with my attraction to women which makes this scenario extra delicious.
3. I love being spanked & whipped almost as much as like to be completely dominated. I really like that the narrator has so little control over her predicament and that time/eternity has been manipulated.
4. I’m dark & twisted, as is this story.
When I read it I imagine having my cunt slapped with a ruler by a faceless person. No rhyme or reason, no story to tell.
All I have is a vague intuition that the person doing the slapping/spanking is female, a librarian with glasses & wearing a wool skirt. I can’t imagine what I have done to deserve this treatment, only that I like it. I don’t want it to stop. My ears burn as my pussy throbs and quivers.
Glimpse is an amazing story. Thank you for imagining it.
“As I stand in the corner, staring at the blackness of the blindfold, listening to the tick, tick, tick of the egg timer, I imagine myself in another place. The ticking seems to be getting louder, now a sotto voce rather than a whisper. The vibrations are becoming more insistent – less easy to ignore, they’re almost beginning to feel good.
My mind runs wild with the possibilities of what will happen when the ticking finally stops. Will he tell me to pull down my panties? Or will he do it? Will he drag them abruptly whilst scolding me? Or lower them slowly and compassionately? What will he spank me with? His bare hand perhaps, or a wooden ruler? Will that pink glowing bottom of mine change to a darker shade of red? How will I feel? What if I get excited? My head spins, the scenarios seem endless…”
From new story “Fall”:
In the silence Judith gazed ahead at the passing orange blur. There was something unsettling about Fall, watching a countryside that had once been verdant, so full of life, begin to wither. It was as if the spirit of the woods was dying – or fleeing, sensing the advance of a malign icy force lurking over the northern horizon. A presence that seemed to scare away the sun, robbing the day of its light, lengthening the shadows. You could already feel its chill breath blowing, sapping your energy, encouraging you to hide away inside. Was it any wonder there were myths of frost giants and ice dragons? For our ancestors the encroachment of winter must have felt like a malevolent invasion, like the world around them was fighting for its continued existence.
We’re all leaves, thought Judith. We start as buds, bursting with potential, growing into soft, lush verdant leaves during the seemingly endless springtime of our youth. Still to come, the long glorious Summer of our adulthood, as we soak up the sun’s rays and all life has to offer. And yet, Fall was a reminder of the fate that faced us all, slowly stiffening with the passage of time, feeling the warmth of the sun dimming. The caped vampires, the white-sheet ghosts and the yellow-eyed wolves were mere cartoons, distractions. The true horror of Halloween was that you, and everything you held dear, all you’d ever love and strive for, everything would ultimately shrivel and fall. It was inescapable, certain, unchangeable; eventually, we would all share the fate of the leaves…
I’m writing a new story for Halloween – because there aren’t enough spanking ghost stories. In the meantime here, just in case you missed it last time, is my darkly gothic tale of peeping and punishment, Glimpse…
“A single glimpse was enough to doom me.
Yet all I did was tiptoe across the drifts of yellow fallen leaves, towards the inviting glow of hospitable light, and peek through a house’s window.
My glimpse lasted no longer than a heartbeat.
I saw her standing beside a roaring fireplace, her hair braided in golden plaits, glimmering in the fire light, tumbling over the shoulders of her loose white nightshirt.
Then I saw her bum; captivating, beautiful, pert pink globes – with a crook-handled cane wedged between her cheeks, hitching up her nightie, exposing her to my prying eyes.
It was only the merest glance. Sudden movement drew my eye: a menacing black blur, advancing quickly. Startled, I recoiled from the window, acutely conscious I’d just seen something I was not supposed to see.
Instinctively, I turned and ran…”
Images unknown, via the Halloween Alphabet